The Forerunner, Volume 1 (1909 1910)

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A remarkable book. A work on economics that has not a dull page--the
work of a woman about women that has not a flippant word.--_Boston
Transcript._

Will be widely read and discussed as the cleverest, fairest, most
forcible presentation of the view of the rapidly increasing group who
look with favor on the extension of industrial employment to
women.--_Political Science Quarterly._

"Concerning Children" $1.25

WANTED:--A philanthropist, to give a copy to every English-speaking
parent.--_The Times,_ New York.

Should be read by every mother in the land.--_The Press,_ New York.

Wholesomely disturbing book that deserves to be read for its own
sake.--_Chicago Dial._

"In This Our World" (Poems) $1.25

There is a joyous superabundance of life, of strength, of health, in
Mrs. Gilman's verse, which seems born of the glorious sunshine and rich
gardens of California.--_Washington Times._

The poet of women and for women, a new and prophetic voice in the world.
Montaigne would have rejoiced in her.--_Mexican Herald._

"The Yellow Wall Paper" $0.50

Worthy of a place beside some of the weird masterpieces of Hawthorne and
Poe.--_Literature._

As a short story it stands among the most powerful produced in
America.--_Chicago News._

"The Home" $1.00

Indeed, Mrs. Gilman has not intended her book so much as a treatise for
scholars as a surgical operation on the popular mind.--_The Critic,_ New
York.

It is safe to say that no more stimulating arraignment has ever before
taken shape and that the argument of the book is noble, and, on the
whole, convincing.--_Congregationalist,_ Boston.

"Human Work" $1.00

Charlotte Perkins Stetson Gilman has been writing a new book, entitled
"Human Work." It is the best thing that Mrs. Gilman has done, and it is
meant to focus all of her previous work, so to speak.--_Tribune,_
Chicago.

In her latest volume, "Human Work," Charlotte Perkins Gilman places
herself among the foremost students and elucidators of the problem of
social economics.--"San Francisco Star._

It is impossible to overestimate the value of the insistence on the
social aspect of human affairs as Mrs. Gilman has outlined it.--_Public
Opinion._

IN PREPARATION:

"What Diantha Did" (A Novel) $1.00

"The Man Made World": or, "Our Androcentric Culture" $1.00

Orders taken for Bound Vols. THE FORERUNNER, $1.25

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THE FORERUNNER
CHARLOTTE PERKINS GILMAN'S MAGAZINE
CHARLTON CO., 67 WALL ST., NEW YORK

AS TO PURPOSE:

_What is The Forerunner?_ It is a monthly magazine, publishing stories
short and serial, article and essay; drama, verse, satire and sermon;
dialogue, fable and fantasy, comment and review. It is written entirely
by Charlotte Perkins Gilman.

_What is it For?_ It is to stimulate thought: to arouse hope, courage
and impatience; to offer practical suggestions and solutions, to voice
the strong assurance of better living, here, now, in our own hands to
make.

_What is it about?_ It is about people, principles, and the questions
of every-day life; the personal and public problems of to-day. It gives
a clear, consistent view of human life and how to live it.

_Is it a Woman's magazine?_ It will treat all three phases of our
existence--male, female and human. It will discuss Man, in his true
place in life; Woman, the Unknown Power; the Child, the most important
citizen.

_Is it a Socialist Magazine?_ It is a magazine for humanity, and
humanity is social. It holds that Socialism, the economic theory, is
part of our gradual Socialization, and that the duty of conscious
humanity is to promote Socialization.

_Why is it published?_ It is published to express ideas which need a
special medium; and in the belief that there are enough persons
interested in those ideas to justify the undertaking.

AS TO ADVERTISING:

We have long heard that "A pleased customer is the best advertiser."
The Forerunner offers to its advertisers and readers the benefit of this
authority. In its advertising department, under the above heading, will
be described articles personally known and used. So far as individual
experience and approval carry weight, and clear truthful description
command attention, the advertising pages of The Forerunner will be
useful to both dealer and buyer. If advertisers prefer to use their own
statements The Forerunner will publish them if it believes them to be
true.

AS TO CONTENTS:

The main feature of the first year is a new book on a new subject with a
new name:--

_"Our Androcentric Culture."_ this is a study of the historic effect on
normal human development of a too exclusively masculine civilization.
It shows what man, the male, has done to the world: and what woman, the
more human, may do to change it.

_"What Diantha Did."_ This is a serial novel. It shows the course of
true love running very crookedly--as it so often does--among the
obstructions and difficulties of the housekeeping problem--and solves
that problem. (NOT by co-operation.)

Among the short articles will appear:

"Private Morality and Public Immorality."
"The Beauty Women Have Lost"
"Our Overworked Instincts."
"The Nun in the Kitchen."
"Genius: Domestic and Maternal."
"A Small God and a Large Goddess."
"Animals in Cities."
"How We Waste Three-Fourths Of Our Money."
"Prize Children"
"Kitchen-Mindedness"
"Parlor-Mindedness"
"Nursery-Mindedness"

There will be short stories and other entertaining matter in each issue.
The department of "Personal Problems" does not discuss etiquette,
fashions or the removal of freckles. Foolish questions will not be
answered, unless at peril of the asker.

AS TO VALUE:

If you take this magazine one year you will have:

One complete novel . . . By C. P. Gilman
One new book . . . By C. P. Gilman
Twelve short stories . . . By C. P. Gilman
Twelve-and-more short articles . . . By C. P. Gilman
Twelve-and-more new poems . . . By C. P. Gilman
Twelve Short Sermons . . . By C. P. Gilman
Besides "Comment and Review" . . . By C. P. Gilman
"Personal Problems" . . . By C. P. Gilman
And many other things . . . By C. P. Gilman

DON'T YOU THINK IT'S WORTH A DOLLAR?

THE FORERUNNER
CHARLOTTE PERKINS GILMAN'S MAGAZINE
CHARLTON CO., 67 WALL ST., NEW YORK

_____ 19__

Please find enclosed $_____ as subscription to "The Forerunner" from
_____ 19___ to _____ 19___

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THE FORERUNNER

A MONTHLY MAGAZINE

BY

CHARLOTTE PERKINS GILMAN
AUTHOR, OWNER & PUBLISHER

1.00 A YEAR
.10 A COPY

Volume 1. No. 11
SEPTEMBER, 1910
Copyright for 1910
C. P. Gilman

Your Unborn Grandchild is more real then your Buried Grandfather.
Let us then Obliterate Graveyards and Build Babygardens.

TO-MORROW NIGHT

Marginal mile after mile of smooth-running granite embankment,
Washed by clean waters, clean seas and clean rivers embracing;
Pier upon pier lying wide for the ships of all seas to foregather,
Broad steps of marble, descending, for the people to enter the water,
White quays of marble, with music, and myriad pleasure-boats waiting;
Music of orchestras playing in blossoming parks by the river,
Playing on white-pillared piers where the lightfooted thousands are
dancing,
Dancing at night in the breeze flowing fresh from the sea and the river;
Music of flute and guitar from the lovers afloat on the water,
Music of happy young voices far-flying across the bright ripples,
Bright with high-glittering ships and the low rosy lanterns of lovers,
Bright with the stars overhead and the stars of the city beside them,
Their city, the heaven they know, and love as they love one another.

MR. ROBERT GREY SR.

I thought I knew what trouble was when Jimmy went away. It was bad
enough when he was clerking in Barstow and I only saw him once a week;
but now he'd gone to sea.

He said he'd never earn much as a clerk, and he hated it too. He'd
saved every cent he could of his wages and taken a share in the Mary
Jenks, and I shouldn't see him again for a year maybe,--maybe more. She
was a sealer.

O dear! I'd have married him just as he was; but he said he couldn't
keep me yet, and if they had luck he'd make 400 per cent. on his savings
that voyage,--and it was all for me. My blessed Jimmy!

He hadn't been gone but a bare fortnight when "unmerciful disaster
followed fast and followed faster" on our poor heads. First father
broke his arm. There was the doctor to pay, and all that plaster cast
thing, and of course I had to do the milking and all the work. I didn't
mind that a bit. We hadn't any horse then, to take care of, and Rosy,
our cow, was a dear; gentle as a kitten, and sweet-breathed as a baby.
But it put back all the farm work, of course; we couldn't hire, and
there wasn't enough to go shares on. Mother was pretty wretched, and no
wonder.

And then Rosy was stolen! That did seem the last straw. As long as
Rosy was there and I could milk her, we shouldn't starve.

Poor father! There he sat, with that plaster arm in the sling--the
other one looking so discouraged and nerveless, and his head bowed on
his breast; the hand hanging, the strong busy fingers laxly open.

"I'll go and look," he said, starting up, "where's my hat?"

"It's no use looking, father," said I, "the halter's gone, there are big
footprints beside her hoof-marks out to the road, and then quite a
stamped place, and then wagon wheels and her nice little clean tracks
going off after the wagon. Plain stolen."

He sat down again and groaned.

"Thought I heard a wagon in the middle of the night," said mother,
weakly. Her face was flushed, and her eyes ran over. "I can't sleep
much you know. I ought to have spoken, but you need your sleep."

I ran to her and kissed her.

"Now mother dear! Don't you fret over it,--please don't! We'll find
Rosy. I'll get Mrs. Clark to 'phone for me at once."

"'Phone where?" said father. "It's no use 'phoning. Its those gypsies.
And they got to town hours ago--and Rosy's beef by this time." He set
his jaw hard; but there were tears in his eyes, too.

I was nearly distracted myself. "If only Jimmy were here," I said,
"he'd find her!"

"I don't doubt he'd make a try," said father, "but it's too late."

I ran over to Mrs. Clark, and we 'phoned to the police in Barstow, and
sure enough they found the hide and horns! It didn't do us any good.
They arrested some gypsies, but couldn't prove anything; shut one of 'em
up for vagrancy, too,--but that didn't do us any good, either. And if
they'd proved it and convicted him it wouldn't have brought back
Rosy,--or given us another cow.

Then mother got sick. It was pure discouragement as much as anything, I
think, and she missed Rosy's milk,--she used to half live on it. After
she was sick she missed it more, there were so few things she could
eat,--and not many of those I could get for her.

O how I did miss Jimmy! If he'd been there he'd have helped me to _see
over_ it all. "Sho!" he'd have said. "It's hard lines, little girl,
now; but bless you, a broken arm's only temporary; your father'll be as
good as ever soon. And your mother'll get well; she's a strong woman.
I never saw a stronger woman of her age. And as to the food--just claim
you're 'no breakfast' people, and believe in fasting for your health!"

That's the way Jimmy met things, and I tried to say it all to myself,
and keep my spirits up,--and theirs. But Jimmy was at sea.

Well, father couldn't work, it had to be his right arm, of course. And
mother couldn't work either; she was just helpless and miserable, and
the more she worried the sicker she got, and the sicker she got the more
she worried. My patience! How I did work! No time to read, no time to
study, no time to sew on any of the pretty white things I was gradually
accumulating. I got up before daylight, almost; kept the house as neat
as I could, and got breakfast, such as it was. Father could dress
himself after a fashion, and he could sit with mother when I was outside
working in the garden. I began that garden just as an experiment, the
day after father broke his arm. The outlay was only thirty cents for
lettuce and radish seed, but it took a lot of work.

Then there was mother to do for, and father to cheer up (which was
hardest of all), and dinner and supper to get,--and nothing to get them
with, practically.

The doctor didn't push us any, but father hates a debt as he hates
poison, and mother is a natural worrier. "She is killing herself with
worry," the doctor said; and he had no anti-toxin for that, apparently.

And then, as if that wasn't enough, that Mr. Robert Grey Sr. took
advantage of our misfortunes and began to make up to me again.

I never liked the old man since I was a little girl. He was always
picking me up and kissing me, when I didn't want to in the least. When
I got older he'd pinch my checks, and offer me a nickle if I'd kiss him.

Mother liked him, for he stood high in the church, and was a charitable
soul. Father liked him because he was successful--father always admired
successful men;--and Mr. Grey got his money honestly, too, father said.
He was a kind old soul. He offered to send me to college, and I was
awfully tempted; but father couldn't bear a money obligation,--and I
couldn't bear Mr. Grey.

There was a Robert Grey Jr., who was disagreeable enough; a thin,
pimply, sanctimonious young fellow, with a class of girls in
sunday-school. He was sickly enough, but Mr. Robert Grey Sr. was worse.
He sort of tottered and threw his feet about as he walked; and kind or
not kind, I couldn't bear him. But he came around now all the time.

He brought mother nice things to eat,--you can't refuse gifts to the
sick,--and they were awfully nice; he has a first class cook. And he
brought so much that there was enough for father too. We had to eat it
to save it, you see,--but I hated every mouthful. I lived on our
potatoes mostly, and they were poor enough--in June--and no milk to go
with them.

He came every day, bringing his basket of delicacies for mother, and
he'd chat awhile with her--she liked it; and he'd sit and talk with
father--he liked it; and then he'd hang around me--and I had to be civil
to him! But I did not like it a bit. I couldn't bear the old man with
his thin grey whiskers, and his watery gray eyes, and his big pink
mouth--color of an old hollyhock.

But he came and came, and nobody could fail to see what he wanted; but O
dear me! How I wished for Jimmy. My big, strong, brisk boy, with the
jolly laugh and the funny little swears that he invented himself! I
watched the shipping news, and waited and hoped; he might come back any
time now, if they'd had luck. But he didn't come. Mr. Robert Grey Sr.
was there every day--and Jimmy didn't come.

I tried not to cry. I needed all my strength and courage to keep some
heart in father and mother, and I tried always to remember what Jimmy
would have said; how he'd have faced it. "Don't be phazed by
_anything,_" he used to say. "Everything goes by--give it time. Don't
holler! Don't give a jam!" (People always looked so surprised when
Jimmy said "Jam!") "Just hang on and do the square thing. You're not
responsible for other people's sorrows. Hold up your own end."

Jimmy was splendid! He used to read to me about an old philosopher
called Euripides, and I got to appreciate him too. But when the papers
were full of "Storms at sea"--"Terrible weather in the
north"--"Gales"--"High winds"--"Losses in shipping"--it did seem as if I
couldn't bear it.

Then at last it came, in a terrible list of wrecks. The Mary
Jenks--lost, with all on board.

O what was the use of living! What did anything matter! Why couldn't I
die! Why couldn't I die!

But I didn't. My health was as good as ever; I could even sleep--when I
wasn't crying. Working hard out of doors and not eating very much makes
you sleep I guess, heart or no heart. And I had to keep on working; my
lettuce was up and coming on finely, rows upon rows of it, just as I had
planted it, two days apart. And the radishes too, they were eatable,
and we tried them.

But father laughed grimly at my small garden. "A lot of good that'll do
us, child!" he said. "O Jenny--there's more than that you can do for
your poor mother! I know you feel badly, and ordinarily I wouldn't say
a word, but--you see how it is."

I saw how it was well enough, but it seemed to me too horrible to think
of. To thrust that tottering old philanthropist right into my poor
bleeding heart! I couldn't bear it.

Mother never said a word. But she looked. She'd lie there with her big
hollow eyes following me around the room; and when I came to do anything
for her she'd look in my face so! It was more effective than all
father's talks. For father had made up his mind now, and urged me all
the time.

"We might as well face the facts, Jenny," he said. "James Young is
gone, and I'm sorry; and you are naturally broken-hearted. But even if
you were a widow I'd say the same thing. Here is this man who has been
good to you since you were a child; he will treat you well, you'll have
a home, you'll be provided for when he dies. I know you're not in love
with him. I don't expect it. He don't either. He has spoken to me.
He don't expect miracles. Here we are, absolutely living on his food!
It--it is _terrible_ to me, Jennie! But I couldn't refuse, for your
mother's sake. Now if I could pocket my pride for her sake, can't you
pocket your grief? You can't bring back the dead."

"O father, don't!" I said. "How can you talk so! O Jimmy! Jimmy!--If
you were here!"

"He isn't here--he never will be!" said father steadily. "But your
mother is here, and sick. Mr. Grey wants to send her to a
sanitarium--'as a friend.' I can't let him do that,--it would cost
hundreds of dollars. But--as a son-in-law I could."

Mother didn't say a thing--dear mother. But she looked at me.

They made me feel like a brute, between them; at least father did. He
kept right on talking.

"Mr. Grey is a good man," he said, "an unusually good man. If he was a
bad man I'd never say a word."

"He was when he was young, old Miss Green says," I answered.

"I am ashamed of you, Jennie," said father, "to listen to such
scandalous gossip! How--how unmaidenly of you! I dare say he was a
little wild,--forty years ago. Most young fellows are, and he was rich
and handsome. But he has been a shining light in this community for
forty years.--A good husband--a good father."

"What'd his wife die of?" I asked suddenly.

"An operation,--but he did everything for her. She had the best doctors
and nurses. She was a good deal of an invalid, I believe, after Robert
Jr. was born."

"He's not much!" said I.

"No, Robert Jr. has been a great disappointment to his father--the great
disappointment of his life, I may say; though he was very fond of his
wife. But he won't trouble you any, Jenny; his father is going to send
him to Europe for a long time--for his health. Now Jenny, all this is
ancient history. Here is a good kind man who loves you dearly, and
wants to marry you at once. If you do it you may save your mother's
life,--and set me on my feet again for what remains of mine. I never
said a word while you were engaged to Jimmy Young, but now it's a plain
duty."

That night Mr. Grey Sr. came as usual. He had sent round his car and
got mother to take a ride that afternoon. It did her good, too. And
when he came father went out and sat with her, and left me to him:--and
he asked me to marry him.

He told me all the things he'd do for me--for mother--for father. He
said he shouldn't live very long anyway, and then I could be my own
mistress, with plenty of money. And I couldn't say a word, yes or no.

I sat there, playing with the edge of the lamp-mat--and thinking of
Jimmy.

And then Mr. Robert Grey Sr. made a mistake. He got a hold of my hand
and fingered it. He came and took me in his arms--and kissed my mouth.

I jerked away from him--he almost fell over. "No! O NO!" I cried. "I
can't do it Mr. Grey. I simply _can't!"_

He turned the color of ashes.

"Why not?" he said.

"Because it isn't decent," said I firmly. "I can't bear to have you
touch me--never could. I will be a servant to you--I will work for
you--nurse you--but to be your wife!--I'm sorry Mr. Grey, but I can't do
it."

I ran upstairs, and cried and cried; and I had reason to cry, for father
was a living thundercloud after that, and mother was worse; and they
wouldn't take any more of Mr. Grey's kindnesses, either of them.

My lettuce and radishes kept us alive until the potatoes were ripe. I
sold them, fresh every day. Walked three miles with a big basket full
every morning, to one of the summer hotels. It was awfully heavy,
especially when it rained. They didn't pay much, but it kept us--a
dollar a day, sometimes more.

Father got better in course of time, of course, and went to work on the
farm in a discouraged sort of way. But mother was worse, if anything.
She never blamed me--never said a word; but her eyes were a living
reproach.

"Mother, dear," I begged her, "do forgive me! I'll work till I drop,
for you; I'll deny myself everything: I'll do most anything that's
decent and honest. But to marry a man you don't love is not honest; and
to marry an old invalid like that--it's not decent."

She just sighed--didn't say anything.

"Cheer up mother, do! Father's almost well; we can get through this
year somehow. Next year I can make enough to buy a cow, really."

But it wasn't more than a month from that time, I was sitting on the
door stone at twilight--thinking of Jimmy, of course--and--there _was_
Jimmy. I thought it was his ghost; but if it was it was a very
warm-blooded one.

As to old Mr. Robert Grey, Sr., he persuaded little Grace Salters to
marry him; a pretty, foolish, plump little thing; and if you'll believe
it, she died within a year--she and her baby with her.

Well. If ever anybody was glad I was.

I don't mean glad she was dead, poor girl; but glad I didn't marry him,
and did marry Jimmy.

WHAT VIRTUES ARE MADE OF

"Making a virtue of necessity" we say, somewhat scornfully; and never
consider that all virtues are so made.

"The savage virtues" of endurance, patience, gratitude, hospitality, are
easily seen to be precisely the main necessities of savages. Their
daily hardships and occasional miseries were such that an extra store of
endurance was needed, and this they artificially cultivated by the
system of initiation by torture.

The Spartans used the same plan, training the young soldier to bear a
doubly heavy spear, that the real one might be light to his hand.

Patience was needed by the hunter, and still more by the laboring squaw;
gratitude sprang from the great need--and rarity--of mercy or service;
and hospitality is always found in proportion to the distance,
difficulty, and danger of traveling. Courage, as the preeminent virtue
of manhood, rose to this prominence later in history, under conditions
of constant warfare.

Where you have to meet danger, and your danger is best overcome by
courage, by that necessity courage becomes a virtue. It has not been
deemed a virtue in women, because it was not a necessity. They were not
allowed to face outer danger; and what dangers they had were best
escaped by avoidance and ingenuity. Amusingly enough, since the woman's
main danger came through her "natural protector"--man; and since her
skill and success in escaping from or overcoming him was naturally not
valued by him, much less considered a necessity; this power of evasion
and adaptation in woman has never been called a virtue. Yet it is just
as serviceable to her as courage to the man, and therefore as much a
virtue.

Honesty is a modern virtue. It existed, without a name and without
praise, among savages; but its place among virtues comes with the period
of commercial life. Without some honesty, no commerce; it is absolutely
necessary to keep the world going; its absence in any degree is a social
injury; therefore we extol honesty and seek to punish dishonesty, as the
savage never thought of doing.

All men are not honest in this commercial period, nor were all men brave
in the period of warfare: but they all agree in praising the virtue most
needed at the time.

Truth, as a special virtue, is interesting to study. The feeling of
trust in the word of another is of great value, under some conditions.
Under what conditions? In slavery? No. Truthfulness is evidently not
advantageous to slaves, for they do not manifest, or even esteem that
quality.

Those same Spartans, to whom courage and endurance stood so high,
thought but little of truth and honesty, and taught their boys to steal.
In warfare trickery and robbery are part of the game.

Where do we find the "word of honour" most valued? Among gentlefolk and
nobles, and those who inherit their traditions and impulses. It is
conditioned upon freedom and power. You must trust a man's word--when
you have no other hold upon him!